


Brittle Glass and Granite Stone

by CinnaAtHeart



Series: Be Near Me Now [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU of an AU, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, compliments Be Near Me Now, don't read unless you've read that, for the love of god don't do it, haha what a surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8700358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart
Summary: In an alternate universe, Darcy beats Bucky to the punch. (Let's pretend Darcy confesses in chapter 17 of Be Near Me Now Be Near Me Now, by CinnaAtHeart)FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T READ THIS UNLESS YOU'VE READ BE NEAR ME NOW





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this should have gone up AGES ago. It actually was inspired by an ask the lovely [bittersweetbarnes](http://bittersweetbarnes.tumblr.com/) sent me on tumblr; find the original post [HERE](http://cinnaatheart.tumblr.com/post/148097646992/okay-but-imagine-this-im-halfway-through). I've since added more to it, so even if you did read it on tumblr, know that there's more to it now. ^.^

She finds him outside, crouched beneath the warped and twisted body of a cottonwood, a little down the hill. Leafless, but covered in yellow, hanging catkins, Darcy spares a moment of thanks that she doesn’t suffer from hayfever. James doesn’t look up at her approach, gaze focused pointedly at the ground. His hands hang limply between his legs.

“James?”

“I buried them here.”

_Oh._

She doesn’t need to ask what he means by that. Darcy swallows, looking around. The ground is covered by a thick layer of decomposing leaves; no sign of long-forgotten bodies or suspicious mounds of dirt, though she’s not sure what she expected. Twenty years is a long time for the Earth to hide past sins.

Darcy sits beside him without asking permission and he sucks in a breath, as though to say something, but never does.

“It wasn’t you,” she says to the sprawling countryside. He huffs a bitter laugh.

“I know,” he says darkly, and stares at the rotting plant matter beneath his boots. “I get that it wasn’t me- that they made me do these… things- _God_ \- but,” he sniffs, “I _wanted_ to. The chair- it _twisted_ something inside me. Made me want to comply.”

Darcy moves slowly, telegraphing her movements as she bridges the space between them to hold his hand. The metal is cool and smooth beneath her fingers, and though Bucky doesn’t squeeze back, she feels the light brush of his thumb across her knuckles. “What they did to you James… it was _monstrous_. That you came out of it at all is a miracle; not many could have done the same.”

His head tilts to stare at their joined hands and he licks his lips. He looks so _sad_. “I think… somewhere along the line I forgot how to be afraid. All I could ever do was what they told me and I just… I just wanted to _survive_.”

The back of Darcy’s eyes burn, and she stares down at their joined hands as she wills the tears to leave. The sleeve of her sweater has fallen away, exposing her wrist, and in the mottled light beneath the cottonwood, her scars are a faded maroon. Darcy feels the weight of his gaze on her words as sure as any touch, and she swallows thickly. 

“James,” she starts. “There’s something- there’s-” she huffs unhappily. “I have a story- a story I need to tell you.”

He frowns at her, and she can see the curiosity on his face, plain as day, but it’s tempered by a wariness that is achingly familiar. She removes her hand from his, lets it drop to the ground, fingers digging into the dirt and dead leaves.

“I- I need you to keep an open mind about this, okay?”

James blinks slowly, and Darcy ponders the appropriateness of confession on an unmarked grave.

“This is… it’s…” she sighs heavily and looks away, feeling oddly unworthy. “It’s kind of about a man, and kind of about a woman, but mostly it’s about a soulmate. A soulmate who did a terrible, _terrible_ thing.” Darcy looks out at the vista in front of them; the rolling hills and long grass, a myriad of golds and greens so lovely she could almost forget she put a gun to a man’s head this morning and almost pulled the trigger.

“See, this soulmate; she used to love her soulmark. Used to dream about the day she’d get to meet them- _her One_. The person meant to complete her.” She breathes in shakily. Holds the breath in her chest for as long as she dares. “Then- one day- there’s an accident, at work. She’s sent back to a place she doesn’t know. A place full of- full of pain and death and suffering. A place she knows millions will die from. But,” she huffs a bitter laugh, “she meets _him_. The One. Her soulmate. He says her words and she says his… but instead of being happy… these soulmates are afraid.”

She can see James staring at her out of the corner of her eye, but Darcy can’t bear to turn and look. She feels like brittle glass, and James is the stone that could shatter her. “This soulmate- she knows nothing of war… but the other… he knows nothing but. He thinks she’s a trap, meant to hurt him and the thing is… he’s right.”

She bites her lip- they’re chapped and kind of sore and Darcy can’t help but feel she deserves the pain. Her eyes burn from the threat of tears. “See,” she breathes, voice hitching despite her best efforts, “this soulmate- she remembers her history books and she knows who her soulmate is... And she knows what happens to him.”

James sucks in a sharp breath. “Darcy-”

“No- _please, James, let me speak._ ”

He falls silent. Darcy tilts her head upwards, trying to still the onslaught of tears.

“In the history books, you see… he dies. And this soulmate- she knows this. And so,” she cries in earnest now, tears streaming down her face as her voice hitches and fumbles, “so when the opportunity comes, she does a terrible- _terrible_ \- thing and she _leaves him_.”

“Darcy,” he says again, and leaves a hand on her shoulder a moment before she shakes him off. She doesn’t deserve his touch.

“She _abandons him to die_ ,” she sobs, and curls in on herself, arms creeping up to clutch at her hair. “In- Instead of trying to fix things. Instead of trying to get to know him; learn and love the man he is and make the most of their time… she leaves him for dead. Goes back to her world, where some things aren’t great, but still a damn sight better than there!” The air feels hard to breathe, like trying to breathe through a pillow.

“And this Soulmate; she _hates herself_ for leaving. _Hates-_ stronger than anything she’s ever felt before, because she hurt them. Her One- the man meant to complete her. But he’s dead and she can’t come back… only,” she sobs. Rocks a little on the cold, hard earth. “Only he’s _not dead_. He’s been alive this whole time- tortured, turned into a weapon…” she looks up, and through her bleary vision sees James, sitting straight and tall and Darcy feels like her chest is trying to tear itself in two. Everything hurts.

“This is a story about us, isn’t it?” he asks, voice small and soft. He looks so- so _vulnerable_. So open and shocked and Darcy wonders if he ever suspected. Ever knew deep down.

“It is,” she says wetly. James makes a soft, distressed sound in the back of his throat.

“But- _why-_ why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was scared? Because you kidnapped me? Because I didn’t want you to be dictated by fate? Or maybe it was just because I hated myself, God, James, pick a reason.”

He stares at her, gaze unwavering and Darcy does her best to return the gaze, though her breathing comes in short gasps and her vision is blurry and she’d like nothing more than to flee from him and act like none of this ever happened. His expression turns pained and he makes another soft sound when he finally closes his eyes, face scrunching up into a rictus of agony.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes, “but I don’t- I don’t remember you.”

Darcy laughs- a sharp and bitter sound that has no place in her confession, but she finds herself unable to stop the sound from bubbling up from her chest. She knows- intellectually- that this had been the most likely outcome, but it hurts nonetheless. “I don’t- I don’t care about that,” she lies. “I didn’t think you’d remember me. But I... I had to tell you. I’m so sorry James. So _fucking sorry!_ ” She curls forwards, rocking slightly as she cries ugly, bitter tears, and wonders if he’s going to leave her now.

The hand on her arm surprises her, and Darcy looks up at him, startled. James stares back at her with those sad eyes of his, but there’s a soft, hopeful smile on his face that leaves her breathless. “So you’re my soulmate?”

She nods mutely, and watches in wonder as the smile on his face grows wider. God help her, but there’s something close to joy on his face. “ _Darcy_ ,” he breathes, and his other hand cups her cheek reverently, ignoring the tears. “I thought- I thought you’d died. I didn’t think-” he bites his lip, eyes wide as he looks at her as though seeing her for the first time. “I’d thought you’d be long gone,” he says again. "I thought I'd be alone."

She smiles mirthlessly. “That makes two of us.”

He strokes her cheek with his thumb and Darcy sniffles, leaning into the touch like a cat. “What- what did we say?”

She bites her lip. The events surrounding her little ‘trip’ are kind of fuzzy, but their words are ingrained in her mind like a tattoo. “When I… woke up in 1944, you were there guarding me. I worked out pretty quickly that something was wrong and I…” she blushes, feeling awkward having to recount it all, but James watches her with an intensity that is achingly familiar, “I said, ‘Well fuck, please tell me I’ve just stumbled into an impromptu LARPing event in Central Park; what’s the date Mister Handsome Army Dude?' ”

He laughs, startled, and Darcy is struck by the sound; she’s never heard him laugh so freely before. “ _Wow_ ,” he remarks, and something almost wicked sparks up in his eyes that makes Darcy’s stomach flutter. “I’m almost glad I still don’t have them.”

Her flush turns deeper and she hits his chest with the back of her hand. “Hey!” she cries out, and James laughs again, catching her free hand. “Rude!”

“Sorry, doll,” he says seriously, but that sparkle in his eye is still there. " What the hell is LARPing?"

"Never you mind what LARPing is," she pouts, and he smirks at her.

His attention turns to her hands, and he rubs at her scars curiously. “What did I say?”

Darcy sighs, closing her eyes. When she opens them again, James is watching her carefully. “You- _God_. You were so handsome, did you know? Still are,” she amends when he raises a brow at her, “but back then- you were beautiful. Warm and amused and curious… and then I said your words, and I watched all of that drain away.” She stares down at her wrist and sighs heavily. “You told me, ‘Well, it’s currently the eleventh, but with the way you’re running your mouth, it’ll be the twelfth in no time’. And then you… then you accused me of being Hydra, and learnt who you were meant to be.”

James sighs heavily. “We’re not good at this, are we?”

She laughs wetly and shakes her head. “Seems like every route we take we fuck up.” James snorts in response and she looks at him shyly. “What did you want to do about it?”

James glances down at the ground, and Darcy is abruptly reminded of where they sit, the bodies of the Soldier’s victims lying forgotten beneath their feet. She wonders if James is thinking the same thing. His thumb rubs over her scars absently and she shivers. “I don’t know… but I think I’d like to- like to try.”

 “I’d like that too,” she confesses. James huffs a quiet laugh and he looks back at her, almost nervous. “I don’t know where we’d even begin.”

She smiles, tentative. “How ‘bout a kiss?”

His answering smile is warm and content- not quite happy, but close. “As good a start as any,” he murmurs, and he drops her hands in favour of reaching for her face, cupping her cheeks like she’s some precious, fragile thing. And maybe she is, but when he leans forwards and presses his lips to hers, she certainly doesn’t feel it. She shivers beneath his touch, and her eyes flutter closed as warm lips brush tentatively over hers. Darcy sighs into his mouth, the kiss slow and tender, and James’ hands shift, wrapping around her waist and holding her to him. The angle is awkward and, exasperated, she pushes him backwards, marvelling in the way he lets her manoeuvre him down to the ground. She follows, stretching out beside him and kissing him with fervour when he clutches at her sweater. His body is a long line of warmth down Darcy’s side, and she wants nothing more than to run her hands over him, find his scarred marks and touch them like he touches hers, but she is careful. One wrong move, she fears, could ruin this little pocket of peace they’ve made for themselves.

When finally, James pulls away, Darcy is breathless and her lips tingle, nose filled with the smell of James and the cold earth. She smiles at him and curls into his side, sighing contentedly at the way his arm wraps around her waist without thought. They stare up at the drooping limbs of the cottonwood, yellow catkins swaying lightly in the breeze. Her mind is blank, and her head rises and falls in synch with James’ slow and steady breathing.

“I don’t know if I can be good for you,” James says eventually, his voice slow and careful. Darcy hums and spreads a hand flat across his chest.

“I don’t care,” she murmurs. “I want to try anyway.”

He heaves a sigh, but doesn’t say anything more. Darcy wonders not for the first time what it is exactly that’s going on in that head of his. She thinks, maybe, that she doesn’t want to know, and she closes her eyes and lets her thoughts fill with the steady _tha-thump_ of his heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come and chat with me on [tumblr](http://cinnaatheart.tumblr.com/) :D


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